LONG SHOT: (A HOOPS Novel)

by Ryan, Kennedy

  “August, Caleb was …” She stops herself and looks off to the side, avoiding my eyes.

  I’m on high alert. We never talk about him. That’s a blessing and a curse because even hearing her say his name drives me a little crazy.

  “What about him?” My voice is about as pleasant as rat poison. I should fix that, but I can’t. When she doesn’t talk about him, I have questions. When she does, I’m a jealous prick.

  “Nothing Caleb ever gave me was truly mine,” she says, biting her bottom lip. I want to gather her in my arms, but she’s stiff, and I sense she won’t continue if I touch her.

  “He used everything against me to control me.” When she looks up at me, her eyes hold a million secrets, and I want to know every one of them.

  “I know you signed an NDA,” I start.

  “I did.”

  “But,” I continue, “it feels like you and Caleb have these secrets that I know nothing about. All this stuff I’m not in on, and I hate it.”

  She twists the line of her mouth into a hard curve. “The only thing Caleb and I have together is Sarai,” she says. “And I do everything I can to keep him away from her.” She squeezes my hand and takes another step closer. “I want nothing from him, August, except to be left alone. I promise you that.” She studies my face for a few seconds. “Do you believe me?”

  “Yeah. I do.” I rub the ends of the braid hanging over her shoulder between my fingers. “You won’t find me complaining about Caleb not being in our lives.”

  I should be careful. I don’t want to scare Iris off by making her think I expect her to share her life with me. To share her daughter with me. To move in with me soon. To marry me someday.

  Though these are all the things I expect.

  I just need to give her time to get used to them. I have to learn to temper my responses. I think I freak her out with the intensity of my feelings. I mean, I did once hit on her while she was breastfeeding.

  That’s not intense at all.

  “You said something this morning.” She’s back to studying the concrete.

  “We said a lot of things this morning.” I draw and release a quick breath. “Which thing are we talking about?”

  “You said I own your heart outright.”

  In the tiny shred of silence that follows her words, I don’t know if I want to take it back or say it again in a hundred different ways.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t …” She swallows and looks up at me, an apology in her eyes. “Well, that I didn’t respond or say anything back.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”

  “No, you don’t get it.” She shakes her head, an impish smile curving her lips. “I should have said that I’d play you at the five.”

  My blood is fizzing, like someone dropped an Alka Seltzer in my veins. Little pops and tiny explosions occur under my skin while I wait for her to continue. Iris and I have had too few moments alone together over the years, and that day in the gym playing HORSE was one of my favorites. Second, of course, to that kiss in the closet. I know what I meant when I said that. My heart goes loud and hard like a bass drum in my chest to think she might mean the same.

  “I never realized how cryptic that was,” I say, tucking a few escaping tendrils of hair behind her ear. “Until right now when I’m trying to figure out if you mean what I think you do.”

  She reaches up, framing my face between her hands, and I’ve never seen her more earnest. “I don’t want to be cryptic,” she says. “I’ll just say it so there’s no doubt.”

  She folds her lips in and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as if she’s preparing to jump out of a plane. “I love you, August.”

  I doubt the world actually stops, because based on the laws of physics or whatever governs the Earth’s axis, that isn’t possible. That’s how it feels, though, when she says those words. Like all of creation has tuned in to hear this—a universal pause to acknowledge possibly the greatest moment of my life. Not winning the NCAA Championship or being drafted by the Waves. Not being Rookie of the Year. And when I finally win my ring, it won’t even compare. None of those things are as monumental as the words coming out of this beautiful little angel-witch who cast a spell on me the first time I saw her, one that has never worn off.

  “I didn’t quite hear you,” I say, staring at the top of her head.

  Her eyes pop open and then narrow. She smacks my chest, a wide grin stretching her mouth. “Just for that, I take it back.”

  “Oh, yeah? It’s like that?” I ask laughingly. “How you just gonna take it back?”

  I pick her up, ignoring her laughing screeches, and deposit her on the hood of her car, standing between her spread legs. Our breaths hitch, part exertion, part passion. My thumbs discreetly trace the underside of her breasts, and her lashes drop over the desire growing in her eyes. Glancing around the empty parking lot, she slowly slides her hand down to the front of my sweatpants and grabs my dick through the thick cotton. I squeeze my eyes closed tight against a rush of carnal pleasure. I dip to take her mouth with mine, entangling our tongues. We shelter urgent touches between our bodies.

  A door slams across the parking lot, and we look up to find one of the trainers getting out of his car, trying to pretend he doesn’t see us just about fucking on the hood of Iris’s car.

  I clear my throat, looking up to find Iris’s eyes laughing back at me. We sober simultaneously. I’ll never forget this moment when I understood, truly understood, that the basketball and the money and the fame, they’re all great. Those words she just said to me, though, eclipse everything else.

  “I can’t remember if I said I love you, too.” I look up at the sky, as if I’m trying to recall.

  “You didn’t actually,” she says.

  I cup her chin, bringing her close and kissing her slowly, tasting her love, those words still resting on her tongue.

  “I love you,” I say against her lips, kissing down her chin and behind her ear and any place I can get to that won’t get us arrested for indecent exposure.

  “We made a memory on the hood of my car,” she says, her eyes wide and pleased. “See? It’s not so bad.”

  My smile drops, and I shake my head.

  “No, babe. This car’s still a piece of shit.”

  47

  Iris

  I’ve got a bad feeling about today, even though it’s Thanksgiving and I want everything to be perfect.

  The last time I watched a Waves–Stingers game, August ended up with a broken leg, and within twenty-four hours I’d been raped and beaten unconscious.

  But what’s there to worry about?

  I can’t help but feel I’m tempting fate sitting here out in the open, like a tree in the middle of a lightning storm. In this scenario, I’m the tree. The thing that finally feels solid, has put down roots and is flourishing. Caleb is the lightning—always violent and ready to strike.

  A sinkhole has been deepening in my stomach ever since August’s mother invited me for Thanksgiving dinner. The game is Waves versus Stingers in August’s hometown, so of course we’re here watching the game, minus Jared who’s skiing in Vail. Matt, August’s stepfather got called into the office for an emergency, but should be home in time to eat. I definitely wanted to accept his mother’s invitation to dinner, and I didn’t want to have to explain my hesitation about attending the game. I can’t without divulging more than I should. And maybe … just maybe I’m getting tired of living my life in shadows cast by Caleb.

  “You okay, Iris?”

  Susan Foster, August’s mother, studies me with some concern. She’s probably called my name several times with no response.

  I tune back in to our surroundings. It’s pre-game, and we’re a few seats behind the Waves’ bench. Apparently, Susan always sits in the stands, and it would have been doubly awkward explaining that the first time we meet, I wanted to sit apart from her in a box.

  The last time I was in this building I sat behind the Stingers’ bench.
Sarai sat on my lap, just like she is now, but she was only a few months old. I have to keep reminding myself that Ramone isn’t watching over me—that I won’t go home with Caleb tonight and wake up tomorrow with bruises.

  “Sorry.” I give her a smile that I hope reassures her. “Just thinking about Lo and hoping she makes it in okay.”

  Lo is flying in from New York for Thanksgiving dinner with us at Mrs. Foster’s. She would have been here sooner if work hadn’t held her up in Prague.

  “She’ll make it in just fine.” Mrs. Foster pats my hand and smiles kindly. “We’ll have dinner ready and all she’ll have to do is sit down to eat.”

  “Thank you for inviting her. For inviting Sarai and me, too.”

  “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a very long time, Iris.”

  “You have?” I turn to her, surprise temporarily overshadowing my anxiety.

  “August told me all about you long ago.”

  “Long ago?” I shake my head and laugh as lightly as I can with a boulder sitting on my chest. “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, he didn’t give me all the details,” she says hastily, her blue eyes teasing. “But he did say he thought he had found the right girl. This was when he stayed home for rehab.”

  It would have been around the time we saw each other that week at the community center.

  August and I didn’t see each other much until I moved to San Diego. What was it about me that struck him so powerfully? That made him think I might be the one after only a few encounters? Probably the same thing that urged my thoughts back to that first night we met time and time again—the thought of that night as the fork in the road, and of him as the path I should have chosen.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I finally respond, my cheeks hot.

  “I’m just glad it worked out. I’m glad to meet the girl who stole my son’s heart.” Mrs. Foster says. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

  Neither could I.

  The moment I’ve been dreading lands on me with crushing force. When Caleb’s team takes the floor for the pre-game shootaround, every nerve in my body screams for me to run. My internal alarm system warns me of danger. My muscles tense to the point of pain. I’m braced for a confrontation of wills, but when Caleb looks up into the stands and sees me, he smiles. He’s at the opposite end of the floor. There’s so much distance between us—I should feel safe. But I could never feel safe with him in the same building. Some days I don’t feel safe knowing he’s on the same planet.

  All of his teammates go through the pre-game warm-up, but he just stands and stares. His smile grows wider the longer I stare back. He shifts his glance to Sarai in my lap, and the smile falls away. His eyes, when they return to me, promise retribution. That one day, he’ll make me pay.

  “Iris!” August calls from just beyond the bench, down on the floor.

  As soon as I see him, my body relaxes. The tension dissipates. At the other end of the court is my dark past—a nightmare I barely survived. My future stands in front of me. And it’s so bright. August is so bright. We share a smile before he starts his pre-game shootaround and joins his team.

  He asked if I was sure I wanted to come today. He doesn’t know everything that happened with Caleb. In the grand scheme of things, he knows almost nothing, but he knew today would be difficult for me. I’m so damn tired of running, though. For a long time, I was Caleb’s marionette, but he doesn’t pull the strings anymore. My boyfriend’s mother wanted to meet me; wanted to meet my daughter; wanted to sit beside her son’s girlfriend and watch him play on Thanksgiving. Maybe I’ll regret it, but right now, I’m glad that at least I tried.

  At halftime, the game is tied. If the Waves don’t win any other game this season, I pray they win this one. The speculation has been rampant leading up to this rematch between the two teams, specifically between August and Caleb. It resurrected talk of Caleb’s dirty play.

  Everyone knows Caleb and I have a child together—that I lived with him during his rookie season. And anyone who didn’t know I was with August will figure it out now. I’m sitting with his mother. I know some of his teammates have wondered about it, and I’m sure some of them have talked. There’s already some nasty speculation. People will say I’m out to trap August the way I “trapped” Caleb.

  God, if only they knew what a trap Caleb set for me.

  “Would you have preferred we sit in a box?” Mrs. Foster asks, her eyes astute.

  “It’s just …” I laugh, a false sound if I ever heard one. “This may fuel more talk about me being with August after Caleb. Some have said it’s August’s revenge for Caleb’s dirty play. They say I’m a …”

  I don’t even want to voice the things people say about me.

  Whore. Opportunist. Gold-digger. Trick. Groupie. Thirsty. Trap chick.

  Don’t google yourself if you don’t want to know what people actually think. They freely express it from the anonymity of their laptops and behind the mask of their avatars.

  “You know the truth,” Mrs. Foster says, patting my hand. “And so does August. He doesn’t care what they say, and neither should you.”

  I force myself to relax, running my hands up and down Sarai’s arms. She’s playing the piano on her iPad and wearing her headphones. She’s gotten so big and probably wouldn’t even recognize her father if she saw him.

  “Gus!” Sarai screams, jarring me back to the action.

  August is on the free-throw line, and I’m so afraid Sarai’s scream might break his concentration, I cover her mouth.

  “Shhhh,” I say in her ear. “August needs to focus, baby.”

  She puts her index finger to her mouth, her eyes wide, and looks up at me.

  “Fo-cus,” she whispers.

  I laugh and tap her nose. When I look up, August is peering over the time-out huddle observing us. He smiles, and of course, Sarai chooses that moment to scream “Gus” again. She blows him a kiss, and he flashes a quick grin at her, pressing his palm to his lips to blow a kiss back. His eyes, though, fix on me, and contentment, pleasure, and the closest thing to joy I can imagine all flow through me like the Mississippi, wide and powerful. My eyes water and my nose burns. The emotion grows so dense between us, even separated by half an arena.

  “I love you,” he mouths, the look in his eyes warm and so certain.

  I nod, press a hand to my lips, and discreetly return his blown kiss. He crooks a smile and returns his attention to the huddle.

  I experience a sharp sensation, like a needle pricking my flesh. When I glance over at the Stingers’ bench, I meet Caleb’s barbed stare. Malevolence festers in his eyes, and his hands tighten into fists at his side. Menace surrounds him, as much a constant companion as Ramone had ever been.

  It’s a dark déjà vu of the last time we found ourselves in this place, but the tables have been turned. There’s always been an inescapable awareness between August and me. Caleb saw it then, and he sees it now. The day I met August, I stepped into a force field, setting something into motion that was in some ways my fault, and in other ways, out of my control. That defiance rises up in me, and I don’t care if Caleb sees it. He can’t do anything to me now without taking himself down, too. In a mockery of the special moment I just shared with August, he blows me a kiss.

  “Is he going to be a problem, Iris?” Mrs. Foster asks from beside me.

  Startled, I give her my full attention. She’s still looking in Caleb’s direction but waits for my response.

  “No. I …” I’ve only ever talked openly with Lo about the details of what happened to me, but I wish I could share everything with August’s mother and her kind eyes. “He was a problem, but it’s been handled.”

  “August loves you very much,” she says, looking at me and smiling at Sarai. “And your daughter, too. He talks about you both all the time now.”

  “He does?”

  “I’m sure you know you’re the most important thing in his life.”

  I’d play you at the five.


  I don’t answer, but wait for her to go on, because I know there is more.

  “That man broke my son’s leg over you,” she says, holding up her hand when I start to apologize. “It’s not your fault. It’s only his fault, but even knowing how complicated your situation was, August still wanted you. He’d hate me butting in, but he is my important thing, and I want to know your intentions.”

  “My intentions?” A laugh, rich and full, escapes my lips. “You want to know my intentions toward August?”

  She yields a small smile and caresses Sarai’s hair.

  “I have no illusions about my son. I know he’s been a bit of a player, on court and off.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “But I know he’s deeply in love with you and has been for some time.” Our humor fades, but the kindness in her eyes remains. “So yes, I’m asking you, not if you love him, because it’s obvious you do. I’m wondering if you’ll be able to marry him when he asks you.”

  Marry.

  For most girls, it means June weddings and flowers—hopes and dreams fulfilled.

  It doesn’t mean that to me anymore. It means a trap. It means a man has access to my life, to my daughter, that he could, at his discretion, abuse.

  “I haven’t asked August about it,” she says softly. “And I know he is probably just so glad to finally have you that he isn’t pressing it, but I have to wonder—a man cruel enough to break someone’s leg over the woman he wants, well … he could be that cruel to the woman he wants, too. Am I right?”

  Irrationally, I glance up at the jumbotron. I’ve been taken by surprise more than once, finding myself, unsuspecting, onscreen. If my face were onscreen now, I fear everyone would know what had happened with Caleb and me—a vignette playing out in vivid black-and-blue-bruised technicolor for everyone to see. They’d know what I’d survived. And as much as I know it wasn’t my fault, shame spreads, leaving no part of me clean. I’m sullied by Caleb’s touch, my heart and soul covered in invisible smudges.